


How Turians Do Dates

by ellebeedarling



Category: Mass Effect Trilogy
Genre: Awkward Flirting, Canon Typical Violence, Giveaway fic, Happy Ending, Interspecies Romance, M/M, Mutual Pining, These guys are dorks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-09
Updated: 2017-10-09
Packaged: 2019-01-15 10:26:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,231
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12319167
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ellebeedarling/pseuds/ellebeedarling
Summary: Garrus joins the Normandy after the showdown on Omega, and Shepard begins to feel something more for the turian than just friendship. Mutual awkwardness and misunderstandings lead to unwanted tension between two friends. Deciding enough is enough, Shepard stops trying to flirt with his friend and chooses the bold, direct path instead.





	How Turians Do Dates

**Author's Note:**

  * For [anarchycox](https://archiveofourown.org/users/anarchycox/gifts).



> So I did a giveaway drawing on Tumblr for my birthday back in September, and the lovely anarchycox won! It's taken me a little longer to finish this than I meant for it to, but I really hope you enjoy it! Thanks for playing along with the giveaway! 
> 
> She asked for mutual pining, awkward flirting, and being protective of one another. I'll let y'all decide if I hit the mark! :)

Shepard stepped into his quarters and leaned against the door as it closed behind him. Heaving a frustrated sigh, he stared up at the ceiling, trying to reign in his wayward emotions. Throughout his life, he’d always maintained careful control over everything. Showing your hand was dangerous. Much better to play things close to the vest. It was one way to prevent getting in over his head. 

 

Only now, he realized he’d never been more over his head in his life. Growling a curse, he pushed off the door and crossed the room, retrieving a fresh change of clothes from his locker. Quickly, he popped the seals on his armor, laying each piece on the low table in front of the couch. Cursing the stupidly laid out floorplan of the ship that had the armory on the combat deck, he made a mental note to deliver the armor to Jacob later for maintenance. The ship’s design was just one more reminder that he was no longer in the Alliance. 

 

Grumbling, he removed the last of his armor and stripped out of his under suit. However much he may hate his current circumstances, one thing he would never complain about was having his own private shower. 

 

Stepping in, he didn’t even wait for the water to adjust to the proper temperature. The freezing water gave him a jolt that he couldn’t even get from coffee, and he knew he’d need to be alert in order to knock out those post mission reports that Miranda always wanted filled out in triplicate no more than six hours after the squad had returned to the ship. Shepard thought gleefully about telling the woman to kiss his lily white ass, but he knew he needed her. Besides, it wasn’t as if Miranda was a bad person, a little overbearing at times, maybe, but hell, she was just doing her job. 

 

Thinking about Miranda kept his mind off other worrying issues. Like Garrus and the absurdly awkward conversation they’d just had. Shepard groaned and let his head hit the shower wall as the water temperature evened out into something more soothing than painful. He wasn’t sure if he’d just come on to the turian or insulted him and the entirety of his family. He’d meant to do the former, but well, he’d been out of practice for awhile. Not that flirting had ever been his strong suit. 

 

At the moment he wanted to curl into a ball and disappear from the face of the galaxy forever. He could just imagine the field day Khalisah al’Jilani would have with her headline: First Human Spectre Raised From Dead; Dies of Embarrassment Mere Weeks Later.

 

He whacked his forehead against the wall again. And again. Stupid! God, he could be so stupid sometimes. He honestly wasn’t sure how he’d gotten the reputation he had as a brilliant diplomat and peacemaker. In reality, he was blunt and awkward, bumbling his way into one surprisingly peaceful resolution after another. 

 

He was good at shooting things, making them explode, but the talking thing? Not so much. He should probably be banned from it for life. What had he said? Something about testing reach and flexibility? 

 

What. The. Fuck. 

 

He let his head hit the wall one last time. He couldn’t hide in the damn shower forever, though, so as quickly as possible, he washed and exited the bathroom, dripping water everywhere. Making his way straight to his bed, he threw himself down on it face first, groaning again. He couldn’t hide in his room either, now matter how much the idea appealed to him at the moment. He could, however, take a few moments to rest and gather his thoughts before having to face the turian again. 

 

Exactly when the feelings of friendship and admiration he’d always felt for the turian had spilled over into this insane, all-consuming attraction to Garrus, he wasn’t sure, but it seemed to have taken over all rational portions of his brain. Most of the time, he was able to compartmentalize, shutting the unwanted emotions into their own little walled off boxes while he dealt with the more pressing matter of saving humanity. But every time he set foot in the main battery, his mouth went dry while his palms started sweating, and he said something so indescribably idiotic that he genuinely thought he must be going insane. 

 

Maybe the segment of his brain that governed love and lust hadn’t been put back together correctly. Or maybe it was the part that controlled his speech. Really that was the problem wasn’t it? Physical reactions could be dealt with. It was the moronic words that slipped into the air between them whenever he was face to face with the turian that were the problem. 

 

Garrus had yet to give him any sign that he was ready to take him up on his poorly worded offers of stress relief - or more.  _ Please let him want more. _ Neither had there been any signs that he wanted to tear Shepard to shreds with his talons, and fuck, that idea shouldn’t be so goddamned appealing. He thought about crying into his pillow, but decided against it. Instead, he stood to face the world like a man, promising to keep his damn mouth shut the next time the turian was within earshot.

 

**

 

Garrus wasn’t really surprised to see Shepard sitting at the table in the mess hall alone. A little nervous about facing him again, perhaps, but not surprised. Since his awkward attempt to get the Commander to see him as something more than just a subordinate and comrade, he hadn’t laid eyes the man. Garrus had no idea how to flirt with humans, but evidently talking about your past conquests wasn’t it, despite the fact that he’d heard other squad members - including Shepard - on both Normandy’s relay tales of their sexual prowess as a way to entertain themselves. He frowned. 

 

When they’d talked earlier, Shepard had muttered something about stress relief, and Garrus hadn’t exactly taken the man’s meaning. Spirits he needed some sort of manual for navigating the waters of human dating and courtship. Shepard had bolted before he’d had the chance to question him further, and Garrus wasn’t sure if he should be intrigued or offended.

 

Throughout their time together aboard this ship, a shift in their relationship had occurred. Before, he was sure that Shepard had seen him as nothing more than a subordinate, someone to impart wisdom to, and Garrus had willingly soaked up every ounce of Shepard’s tutelage that he could. He’d admired the first human Spectre, looked up to him, but now… 

 

Now, he felt that Shepard saw him as more of an equal. There was less a sense of Commander and subordinate, and more of friends, brothers in arms… possibly something more. If only he could get a handle on how to approach making that leap. He’d done a little  _ research _ \- a loose term - and was certainly intrigued by human sexual practice, and Spirits, he wished this new Normandy had only one shower like before. 

 

He remembered seeing the Commander in the shower on multiple occasions on the old ship. Kaidan and Ashley had both informed him that Shepard was a fine physical specimen of their species.  _ A real catch, _ whatever the hell that meant. Regardless, thoughts of water and soap bubbles cascading down Shepard’s naked body had cost him more than one night of sleep since coming aboard this ship, and Garrus was getting downright desperate. 

 

An abandoned cup of noodles sat by the Commander’s elbow, and his eyes were fixed on the datapad in his hands. “Shepard,” Garrus said, startling the man into knocking over the soup. Cursing, the Commander jumped out of his seat to avoid the liquid that raced toward the table’s edge, upsetting his chair in the process. 

 

“Christ,” he muttered. 

 

“You’re getting rusty in your old age,” Garrus said with a smirk. 

 

“I was just distracted,” Shepard mumbled, heading over to the kitchen to retrieve some rags to clean up the mess with. 

 

“By what?” He picked up the datapad the man had been looking at.

 

“Nothing,” Shepard said quickly, attempting to snatch the device back. 

 

Garrus kept the datapad just out of reach, mandibles flaring into a grin. “Hmm…”

 

“Garrus, give that back,” Shepard said. It was the voice he used when he expected his orders to be obeyed. The turian contemplated keeping it, seeing whatever it was the Commander didn’t want him to, but he suspected that was hardly the way to earn the man’s trust, to move things forward in the direction he wanted them to go. “Thank you,” Shepard breathed once the datapad was firmly in his hands once more. 

 

His face turned an interesting shade of red before he bid Garrus goodnight and fled the mess hall. Once again, the turian was left wondering what the hell he’d done wrong this time. 

 

**

 

Something was up with Garrus. He was acting weird, and if Shepard didn’t know any better, he’d say the turian was avoiding him. Every time he went to visit his friend, he was “in the middle of calibrations.” That damned gun couldn’t be that out of sync. Garrus had been working on it for weeks. That only left one conclusion. 

 

Garrus didn’t want to talk to him.  

 

It stung worse than it probably should have, but Shepard couldn’t seem to help being hurt by it. Since that night in the mess hall, there’d been an awkward tension between them, and Shepard wasn’t sure if it was because his looney attempts at flirting with the turian had actually insulted him or if it was because he’d refused to let Garrus look at his datapad that night and had all but run away. Again. He’d been searching for insight on turian relationships - specifically turian/ _ human _ relationships - and coming up empty handed. If Garrus had seen that, Shepard was sure he would have just disintegrated right there on the spot. 

 

“You should find a nice young girl to keep you warm, Shepard. You look like you need to relax.”

 

Shepard scoffed at Aria’s assessment of his mental state, unwilling to admit how close to home she’d hit. 

 

“She’s right, Shepard,” Miranda said from behind him, a coy smile gracing her pretty face. 

 

“I have more important things to worry about,” he said.  _ Like why Garrus suddenly refuses to have anything to do with me, or why I can’t stop thinking about him with his damned armor off.  _

 

He headed to to the lower level of Afterlife, a silent Garrus and smirking Miranda following in his wake. The batarian bartender gave him a curious look when Shepard ordered a drink, offering one to his companions as well. An offer which was declined by both. With a sigh, he downed the glass and suddenly felt as though his throat had been sliced open with razor blades and he’d chased it with a glass of bleach. 

 

Shepard coughed, worsening the feeling that was spreading from his mouth and throat to his chest. His eyes burned, tears streaming down his face as he doubled over and tried to retch up the vile liquid. “Garrus,” he croaked, reaching for his friend out of desperation. The turian was watching him with wild, panicked eyes that were fading from Shepard’s vision with every passing second.

 

“He’s been poisoned,” the turian said, voice as close to terror as Shepard had ever heard it. Before he could respond, he felt his legs give way, and the darkness consumed him. 

 

**

 

“Which way did that bastard go?” Garrus shouted. 

 

Miranda waved a hand in the direction of the exit and resumed working on the Commander, trying to stabilize him. Garrus couldn’t imagine what was going through the woman’s head and didn’t care so long as she could save Shepard’s life. Again. 

 

He took off toward the exit, his menacing glare sending people scurrying out of his path. His relationship with Shepard had been strained for a couple of weeks now, but he owned that much of that was his fault. Unable to keep from saying the wrong thing every time Shepard was around, he’d opted to not say anything at all, realizing belatedly that it was foolish on his part. Whether the Commander ever felt anything more than friendship for him was irrelevant. Garrus wanted the man in his life. Friend or lover didn’t matter. He only knew he couldn’t go through the last two years again.

 

Asking a few questions with a threatening lilt to his voice set him on the trail of the batarian, and when Garrus found him, he planned to gut him alive. His steps carried him toward the slums that had recently been infected by the plague. Too bad it couldn’t have rid the universe of this murderous batarian while it was at it. 

 

Reaching the door he’d been directed to, Garrus didn’t bother knocking. Setting up his auto-hack program, he stood guard, making sure no one interrupted him. The scars on his face were good for more than just attracting krogan women. They were also pretty damned effective at scaring people away. He only hoped that wasn’t the case with Shepard. 

 

The door slid open, and Garrus slipped inside, giving his eyes a moment to adjust to the darkness. Seeing Shepard writhing in pain from the poison he’d ingested, had Garrus’ own blood boiling. As long as there was breath in his lungs, no one would get away with attacking Shepard. He’d do whatever was necessary to ensure it. 

 

Shepard had always encouraged him to temper his anger and frustration. To follow protocol and get the job done the right way, not just the quick way. There was no justice, no  _ right _ , on Omega, though. It was the main reason he’d come here after Shepard’s death in the first place. If he didn’t bring this batarian to justice, who would? No one. That’s who. 

 

The rage and panic he’d felt at watching Shepard suffer, increased tenfold seeing the smug batarian bastard blinking all those damned eyes at him. “What the hell did you do?” Garrus growled. 

 

“Just gave him what all humans deserve… a taste of his own medicine, as they say.” 

 

Garrus headbutted the batarian, a trick he’d learned from Shepard and Grunt, and took a grim satisfaction in watching the man crumple to the floor. “Shepard’s strong enough to live through whatever you did to him.”  _ I hope!  _ “I’m going to let him decide how to deal with you.” 

 

Grabbing the batarian by the collar, he dragged him back to Afterlife, Shepard was pacing the floor, still looking a little sick, but up and moving. Garrus didn’t want to think about how close the man had come to death again, and he was struck anew with the sudden urge to tear the batarian limb from limb. 

 

“Shepard are you alright?” 

 

“Yeah,” the Commander locked eyes with the turian, a pained expression flitting across his face before it settled into its customary stoic facade. “Yeah,” he said once more, “I’m alright.” 

 

“I’m sorry… I should have warned you about that guy.” 

 

“It’s okay, Garrus… really. Don’t sweat it.” A ghost of a smile flickered briefly. 

 

“I brought you a gift,” he said, dropping the groaning batarian at his feet. 

 

Shepard chuckled lightly. “You get me the nicest things.” All humor left his face as he stooped down to eye level with the batarian. “What’s your problem, huh?” 

 

The bartender spat at him, and Shepard growled a curse, lifting him off the floor and giving him a shove toward the bar. “Make me a drink,” he ordered. “Just like the one you made last time.” 

 

Laughing, the batarian did as asked. “You have a death wish, human?” 

 

“No… but obviously you do. Drink.” 

 

The laughter died out slowly as the alien realized Shepard was serious. Garrus observed the whole scene impassively. It wasn’t the Commander’s typical style, but he couldn’t say he blamed the man. For his part, Garrus was relieved that Shepard was taking the bartender out of the picture. One dead batarian in a cesspool of criminals wouldn’t do much, but it would make Garrus rest just a little easier. 

 

Shepard was safe. If only for today.

 

**

 

Something had to give. Shepard was crawling out of his skin. He and Garrus had established a tenuous sort of peace since he’d been poisoned at Afterlife. There was still an undercurrent of discomfort in all their interactions, but at least they were talking again. Selfishly, however, Shepard wanted  _ more. _

 

When it came to combat and life threatening decisions, Shepard was one of the best in the biz. He knew it to be fact, and thinking it didn’t make him prideful, it made him honest. When it came to what he wanted out of his personal life, he was an abysmal failure. This dancing around his feelings had to stop. Confessing to Garrus that he wanted something more than the friendship they’d shared for years might cost him everything, but he had to do it. If the turian shot him down, then at least he’d know where he stood. Cowardice was not his way, however he’d never been one for declarations of love. 

 

“EDI, turn on the privacy settings in the main battery,” Shepard said softly as he stood between the rows of sleeper pods. 

 

“Done. Can I do anything else for you, Commander?” 

 

“That’ll do.” 

 

“Logging you out, Shepard.” 

 

He drew a deep breath and stepped up to the door. He could do this. Only everything was riding on how the next few minutes played out. 

 

Garrus was hunched over the gun’s console, and Shepard wondered briefly if EDI was fucking with him, introducing errors into the calibration software while the turian slept. There was no way in hell that damned gun still needed calibrating. Casting the thoughts aside, he stepped forward. “Garrus?” 

 

“Shepard, need me for something?” 

 

Clearing his throat, he plowed ahead. “I’m here to ask you… if you’d like to go out with me… sometime… to… dinner or something,” he paused to cough, “like… on a… date.” 

 

The turian blinked at him a few times, and Shepard felt his face growing warmer. Rather than run away again, however, he clasped his hands behind his back and waited. It was interminable. He wrestled with himself, cursing himself for a fool the whole time he stood there, wishing once more that the floor would swallow him up so that he’d quit sticking his foot in his mouth. 

 

“”You… want to go on a… date? With me?”

 

His heart was hammering away inside his rib cage, threatening to break free. “I do,” he said quietly. “Uh…” Unable to stand still any longer, he shifted from foot to foot, rubbing the back of his neck. “How… how do you feel about that?”

 

He didn’t know whether to be relieved or disappointed when the turian burst out laughing. “Spirits,” he breathed after several awkward minutes. “I thought you were angry with me.” 

 

“What?” Shepard stared at the turian slackjawed. “Why… why would you think that?” 

 

“It really doesn’t matter. I think it was just a case of… failure to communicate.” 

 

Shepard snorted and dared to take a step closer. “So… is that a… yes?” 

 

“Definitely.” 

 

Allowing himself to relax for the first time in weeks, Shepard breathed a laugh, unable to wipe the idiotic grin off his face. “Great! Okay… well, we’ll be at the Citadel in a few hours, so… what do you feel like doing?” 

 

“I could eat,” Garrus said. “You pick the place.” 

 

“You got it.” 

 

**

 

Garrus watched as Shepard tapped his fingers and fidgeted in his seat, his eyes darting around the room. This wasn’t going so well. In fact, Garrus would venture to say it was going horribly.

 

Conversation was stilted and awkward. Garrus had pretty much told Shepard that he wasn’t attracted to humans at all, and with a puzzled frown the Commander had asked why the hell he’d agreed to the date in the first place if that was the case. He’d had to backpedal then trying to explain exactly what it was that he felt for Shepard, comparing him to a trusted rifle or a dependable set of armor. One of Shepard’s eyebrows had risen toward his hairline while the other sank lower, and Garrus figured that meant he wasn’t making any sense. And Spirits that was so damn frustrating because he cared about Shepard. A  _ lot _ . But he wasn’t sure the right way to go about saying it.

 

Garrus knew that humans had strange courtship and mating rituals. Rarely were they forthcoming with their feelings at first, preferring to keep a part of themselves closed off until they were sure the other person returned their affections. He’d seen it time and again while he worked for C-sec, and he’d watched a few vids on human love and dating in the hopes that he’d one day find himself in this situation with Shepard. 

 

Only now that they were here, everything was coming out all wrong, and Shepard was looking dejected. Garrus didn’t want to admit how very painful that was for him. 

 

Suddenly it occurred to the turian that they were both way out of their element here. They’d never sat down together to have a meal just for the sake of spending time together. Typically they ended up in the mess hall at the same time, commiserating over the latest mission, discussing weapons and mods, or laughing about some story or crew antic. Most of the time they spent together was centered around fighting, and while Garrus hoped that eventually they’d move past that point, it was painfully evident that it wasn’t going to happen around the dinner table. Not today, anyway.

 

“I have an idea, if you’re game,” Garrus said, and Shepard perked up at that, flashing a bright grin. The duo made their way toward C-sec, where Garrus hacked the elevator to take them down to a sublevel of the facility that Shepard was unaware even existed. 

 

“Did you bring me here to take advantage of me?” Shepard asked as they made their way down the darkened corridor. 

 

“No… I brought you here to show you something. This floor was used as a training arena, back in the day, but C-sec decommissioned it years ago. I’m not sure why. My uncle actually told me about it when I was still with the force. I’m sure my father would… what’s the phrase? Shit a rock? ...if he knew that I was sneaking down here to try and impress my date.” 

 

Shepard snorted a laugh. “So your idea of a romantic evening is fighting in a combat simulator?” 

 

“Well, don’t take this the wrong way, Shepard, but your idea of a romantic evening was hardly anything to write home about. I don’t know about you, but I thought the whole thing was…”

 

“Awkward,” they said in unison.

 

“Agreed,” Shepard sighed. “Sorry about that. That’s just… you know… I guess that’s a pretty standard date idea for humans.”

 

“I’m not your standard date,” Garrus said with a gleam in his eye. 

 

“No you’re not.” Shepard stopped him with a hand on his arm outside the door to the simulator. “Garrus… subtle and flirty just doesn’t work for me. I’ve never been great at telling people how I feel. I just… I want you to know that I care about you, as more than a friend, as… I don’t know, as more… maybe a partner.” 

 

The hesitancy in Shepard’s eyes was as unnerving as it was endearing. When galactic security was at stake, the man was surefooted and true, but with his heart on the line, Garrus could see the cracks, the doubts and fears. Gripping Shepard’s hand in his, he gave it a gentle squeeze, stepping closer to the human in the process. “I’m not all that great with words myself,” he confessed, “but I want this with you. I tried to tell you earlier… I’ve never had a thing for humans… it’s just you.” 

 

Shepard’s smile was bright as he took the few small steps needed to bring them close enough to touch. “I don’t have a turian fetish either,” he said. “It’s just you.” He cradled the undamaged side of Garrus’ face with his hand, fingers rubbing gently to get a feel for the texture, and the turian hummed his approval, leaning forward to rest their foreheads together. 

 

“So much… so much has gone wrong these past few years, Shepard, and I just… Just this once, I want something to go right.” 

 

“So do I.” Shepard’s voice was softer than Garrus had ever heard it, and being this close, he could feel the the man’s breath against his mouth. Before he knew what was happening, Shepard’s lips, so delicate and yielding and so incongruous with the man himself, brushed gently against the hard plates of the turian’s mouth. 

 

Garrus watched as Shepard pulled away, saw the question in his eyes, and drew him close for one more kiss before opening the door to the combat simulator. “Now… let me show you how turians do dates,” he said as Shepard chuckled.

 

“Bring it Vakarian. Pretty sure I can handle anything you throw at me.” 

 

“Hmm… maybe,” he leaned close and rumbled in Shepard’s ear, “and maybe later we’ll discuss this reach and flexibility thing.” 

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! 
> 
> A special thank you to my beta [FallingOverSideways](http://archiveofourown.org/users/FallingOverSideways/pseuds/FallingOverSideways)
> 
> Visit my tumblr: [ellebeedarling](http://ellebeedarling.tumblr.com)
> 
> Much love,   
> Elle


End file.
